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Uribe, Alondra, The Real Life Spani-fication of a Self Portrait without a Mouth

URIBE, ALONDRA

Alondra Uribe
Age: 17, Grade: 12

School Name: Theatre Arts Production Co School, Bronx, NY
Educator: Ellen Hagan

Category: Poetry

The Real Life Spani-fication of a Self Portrait without a Mouth

I believe that if you twist the tongue enough the language will fall out. 
And the Spanish will shed off the skin.
There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.
My teeth and tongue do not talk to each other. 
The American and the Spanish girl do not dance with one another.  
They both want to say “I am hiding you.” 
There must be a switch, an unbalanced see-sew
The glass empty or full, never half. 
You must decompose the culture 
in time for the crows to take what’s left. 
There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.
La negrita sits by herself, do you see her too? Her back straight as she wears sand 
waves on her shoulders like an ocean. Like her body is hers. 
The American wears her mother’s rib as her spine 
and writes poems that are slanted sideways on college ruled paper.
I can never be both at the same time.
There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.
There are parts of America and Santo Domingo that do not fit in my mouth.
Mi espetuo se va con el mal. Y no se si pudo aguantar más 
I hide the poet at the back of my throat when my mother speaks to me.  
You must decompose the culture, 
or else the crows will never come to take what’s left.